#i've said it before and i'll say it a million more times: the difference between his professional facade and his personal self is VAST

[talentforlying]

this hand — cool, damp, with a nervous pulse. this man's hand. i held it all the while he talked and i'm still holding it now. must be going soft. these days we all need a hand to hold — in the dead of night, when the rain dashes itself in blind waves against the windows. when fear seeps, pooling in every vague depression — diluting and dissolving us, diminishing us — suspending us, drifting, in a submarine world. when you're drowning, any hand will do.

see this is the part that the new 52 writers always miss about constantine's characterization: he doesn't lack compassion or empathy, and he's not innately selfish. he has always cared more than he probably should. the conflict and tragedy at his core comes from being forced to act against his nature, not from being unable to contain some inherent cruelty. by late hellblazer his ability to show how much he cares is all but burnt out of him, but it's still there.

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Why Can't I Breathe?

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt:

"You were a woman--a woman with a body, feelings, heart, and intellect way beyond his caliber. You were fiercely loyal to him, almost to a fault, never hesitating to stick both your neck and trusted knife out for him, but at the same time, you were kind. You had been so good to him, too good to him, and all the while looking like that.

As you ducked under the water once again, fully scrubbing your body of grime, he realized that you were nothing less than a belle, a seductress, a venus flytrap set just for him to fly into and crush into a million pieces, and he wanted it. He wanted you.

You were so goddamn beautiful, and you had been his this whole time, he was just too dumb and slow to realize it."

Warnings: minor finale spoilers, Joel gets harddd, bathing, references to nudity, guns, Ellie makes a cameo, descriptions of alcoholism, blood, knives, and Joel doesn't know what a feeling is.

A/N: Happy end of The Last of Us! Who can't wait for Season Two!? *salutes before falling backwards off bridge.* But seriously, thank you for all the love on Joel. I can't explain how much it means to me.

If you'd like to leave a like, ask, comment, or reblog, it would be very appreciated <3

Word Count: 1.5k

Pedro Masterlist

(gif credit to owner I cannot find your account for the life of me).

The first thing that hit the forest floor was your boots, bouncing off the swollen grass loud enough for him to hear. The next thing was your socks, based off of the slight grunt you gave when one got caught. Next was your jeans, indicated by the metal pull on the zipper of your crotch clanking down swiftly. You then paused with a huff.

"Are you sure about this?" you said from behind him.

He sighed. "Yes, for fuck's sake. You were just sayin' how badly you wanted a bath."

"Yeah but--" you sighed, frustrated. "What if somebody--or, something--comes along?"

He raised his riffle over his head in reply before settling it back in his lap, his fingers curved firmly around it, screaming try me. He was sitting on a rock, yes, but he was ready. His body always seemed to settle when he guarded you anyway. He tried not to think about that.

"You know what I mean, Joel," you replied. "My hearin' ain't what it used to be."

He hated the smirk that always managed to wriggle its way onto his face when you mocked the depth of his voice and the thickness of his accent, but in reality, it had been the first time he had smiled in a while. All he could do was shake his head in reply, his typical indicator of you win this round.

You sighed again, the running water of the stream behind you filling the air, before saying, "I'm just worried about her."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the girl curled up in the cave ten feet away from him was the "her" you were referring to. She had been different, distant, quiet. Adjectives that had never suited her before, but after whatever the hell went down after Joel woke up, they all seemed to describe her perfectly. Her chest rose up and down in an even rhythm, indicating to Joel that she was long gone, but he understood you nonetheless.

"I know," he said in reply, a drop of unease in his voice, "but I've got her."

You took a deep breath, inhaling through your nose and out your mouth, before the scratch of cloth a shirt makes when it's removed filled his ears instead. "I'll be quick. Get me if she needs me."

"I will," he responded, "but take your time. Please."

He knew why he was delaying bringing her to the Fireflies, and he knew that you knew why he was delaying bringing her to the Fireflies, but like many things between the two of you, it remained unspoken.

"Alright," you said, and dropped two more pieces of cloth onto your pile before stepping away, down into the stream. Joel had never seen one quite like it. All the water flowed from a great waterfall at the end, the perfect place to rinse off after miles of hiking in a humid forest, and Joel saw in your eye how badly you wanted to wash it all away. He stopped the three of you and proposed an early dinner--rabbit, water, and chef boyardee--and Ellie passed out soon after, leaving Joel here, keeping watch for the both of you.

He would never admit how much he likes it--watching you both, keeping you safe, protecting his girls. It was something primal, but also something broken, desperate to be glued back together again.

You could recognize that in him, that need, but you weren't much different from him. Twenty years in an apocalypse, constantly watching your six, always on edge. You two were one in the same in that regard, so when your need for control would bubble up to your irises, he would gladly take the night to rest.

Unspoken, yet so not.

He didn't know when the two of you got so good at it, reading each other. Maybe it was back in Boston, the night you two made your first job together, or the night he blacked out from too much booze, only to find himself in bed under a blanket the next morning. He still didn't know how you managed that one. Maybe it was when he got cut clean through the knee, or when you got one through the shoulder, or when he finally explained what the scar on his face was from, or who the scar on his heart was from, or--

Suddenly, the whoosh of a large splash hit his ear, along with the gurgle of air bubbles, and modesty be damned, he turned around. His riffle was immediately pointed down at the water, ready to fire at will, or he would dive the hell down there.

Except, what exited the water was no infected, no raider, no hunter, and no slaver. No, it was you. Hair flattened by the stream, back dripping with droplets of water, tracing the line your spine made down your back. Your head tilted back in relief, free from the prison of sweat and heat, and your shoulders flexed downward, highlighting that fucking line down your back once again. The setting sun illuminated you, basking you in an aura of orange, as you walked underneath the waterfall. The water soaked through your hair and down your body, causing you to lift up your arms to work your hair away from your face and massage your jaw with your nails. Your waist was that much more accentuated, your throat was revealed just so, and the outline of your breasts taunted him against the stone of the stream.

He could feel his eyes dilate, his jaw go slightly slack, his gun practically slip through his fingers, and buttons on the crotch of his jeans pull slightly tauter than they were a few seconds ago.

He couldn't feel his face, he couldn't hear the water flowing, and he couldn't fucking breathe.

Why can't I breathe?

You had always been a looker, he had no doubt about that--constantly getting looks from men on the streets, offered drinks at bars, and invitations for more than that--but he never viewed you that way.

At least, that's what he told himself when he woke up from dreams about you, covered in sweat.

He liked to think that he admired you, respected you. He knew how little of that you got in Boston, and in his own fucked up ways, he tried to show you that you deserved to be. You were more than just tits and eyes, you were capable, honorable, and a fucking badass when you wanted to be. You went through with a hell of a lot more jobs than he did, coming home with stacks of ration cards higher than the expanse of his hands, only to bring them home to his sorry ass. You could make a clean kill, barely batting an eye, and mere seconds later, help Ellie to her feet, and tell her she was okay. You were beautiful, yes, but he thought he saw that more as admiration, respect, and caring for the woman who had always stuck by his side.

But it was more than that. It had always been more than that.

You were a woman--a woman with a body, feelings, heart, and intellect way beyond his caliber. You were fiercely loyal to him, almost to a fault, never hesitating to stick both your neck and trusted knife out for him, but at the same time, you were kind. You had been so good to him, too good to him, and all the while looking like that.

As you ducked under the water once again, fully scrubbing your body of grime, he realized that you were nothing less than a belle, a seductress, a venus flytrap set just for him to fly into and crush into a million pieces, and he wanted it. He wanted you.

You were so goddamn beautiful, and you had been his this whole time, he was just too dumb and slow to realize it.

The smirk that had formed from earlier had slowly become a smile as he let his eyes slide up and down your body, filled to the brim with emotion and longing, and just as he felt a tear begin to dribble down his cheek at the sight of the woman before him, you turned around, and Joel's stomach instantly fell out of his ass.

He turned on his heel faster than he ever had in his life, wiping at his eye and sniffling, and standing straighter than a soldier.

Of course, you noticed.

"Everything alright?" you shouted from the water below, and with as much dignity as he could muster, Joel responded with a cracked, "yep."

Nothing was, yet everything was.

"I'm almost done," you responded, ducking under the water. You let your mask crack underneath the waves--the smile on your face, the squeal of excitement, and the happiness in your heart.

He was looking at you.

Once again, your mutual understanding remained unspoken, only this time, you had a feeling it wouldn't be for long.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon​ @aninnai @darling-murdock

[thenightfolknetwork]

As a person of evident good judgement, I'm sure you're familiar with the works of the late, great Sir Terry Pratchett. He has the rare skill of mixing philosophy and politics into his comedy, it's quite delightful.

One such example is in his novel 'Going Postal'. He introduces the idea that, “A man’s not dead while his name is still spoken.” It's a beautiful sentiment. But I must confess, some of the shine has worn off it for me in recent years.

I'll cut to the chase: I died of typhoid fever in 49CE. And I mean died. I was done and gone and passed, leaving no more ripples on the surface of the world than any other Joe Nobody. My name had been long forgotten, the stone marking my grave long since worn away.

And then, to my surprise, I returned.

It started slowly, a gradual stirring of awareness. Then, in a great crashing wave, I arrived – full and real and vibrant, as alive as I had been before my sickness.

I've since learnt that there was an archaeological dig near my old home a few years ago. They discovered the stone, deciphered it despite the wear. My name returned to the world - and I returned with it.

At first I was just being mentioned in academic circles, cited here and there. Nothing dramatic.

But then hen, a writer named a character after me in a miniseries about Roman Britain. My name was on millions of lips - apparently I'm something of a fan favourite.

But I've seen the programme and it's all wrong! The character is nothing like me, for starters. And the life they've painted… Well, it is a good effort, I suppose. But it is not my life.

This is to say nothing of the fan interpretation. They barely seem to care about the text of the show at all! They extrapolate wildly, especially about my relationship with a certain centurion. The two of us share barely more than a minute or two of screen time!

I don't mind being back, per se. I enjoyed being alive, and I'm enjoying being back - especially the chance to catch up on my reading.

How can I correct the people's misinterpretations of me and my life? Or should I just let it go and enjoy my resurgence - however long it might last?

First of all, reader, congratulations on returning to this plane of existence. Unexpected as this return might be, I'm glad you're still finding ways to enjoy this new lease on… not life, exactly, but something rather like it.

I can well imagine how frustrating it might be to see people attaching your name and identity to an otherwise fictional character. But I think emphasising that difference is the first step in coming to terms with the situation.

This writer has shown a remarkable commitment to authenticity by choosing the name of a real Roman Briton to use in their screenplay. But seeking to create authentic fiction is a very different ambition than seeking to create a fully accurate representation of past events and the people who lived them.

I wish I could tell you that the viewers of this programme will understand this difference. Many will, but it is an unfortunate truth that people often take historical dramas at face value and may not fully appreciate just how much of what they see has been at most tenuously inspired by historical research, and more likely invented whole cloth by the writers themselves.

But this is a misinterpretation of a television programme, not of you. These viewers are engaging with a piece of fiction, not with you as a real, historical person. This is especially true of those viewers who “extrapolate wildly” about the relationships between fictional character. They aren't misinterpreting you – they're creating their own fictions, inspired by the fiction they've consumed.

With that said, many fans of historical fiction are also interested in actual historical research. If you really want to educate people about life in Roman Britain, the fans of this programme might be a particularly receptive audience. You could try posting on social media about your experiences, using the events in the programme as a jumping off point for your discussion of real history.

Do tread carefully, though. You need to keep a clear distinction between yourself as a real, historical figure and the character who bears your name. You aren't trying to “correct” the television programme or criticise its portrayal, but rather offering your reflections as additional insights for anyone who might be interested.

Please remember though, you are under no obligation to engage with this fan community at all. I see no reason at all why you can't simply leave them to their extrapolations, and concentrate on enjoying yourself for as long as you're with us.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[jacksprostate]

My boss invites me into his office, he's telling me, we've got a problem. It is always, "we." "We" are all in this together. "We" need to put a little more effort in, if "we" want our yearly bonuses. "We" have got to up profits by next quarter, or "we" are going to lose our jobs.

"We" don't all have half a million salaries and a three letter job title, but what can you do.

If you asked my boss, he'd tell you about his. The guy above him. Yeah, "we" are all beholden to him. My boss, he's just regional. Small fry, really.

I'm entering his corner office, big tall windows gaping, stretching the condo construction happening across the street for as far as the eye can see. He sees me looking.

"Perks of the job," he says. A little laugh in his voice. He's not funny.

"We need to talk about your performance last quarter," he says.

We, unto me.

I am Jack's rejuvenated individuality.

My boss had his secretary let me in, so really I've spent the past minute standing awkwardly, insomnia haze locking my gaze some place beyond our broken city horizon. My boss had his secretary let me in because that means he could sit at his desk and pretend to be doing something important. Wave me in, make me wait, give him the opportunity to boast about his jail cell amenities.

You'd think it makes him feel powerful, the way he's clinging to it all. I tongue at the hole in my cheek as I take a seat. Managerial threat displays have lost their effect on me, I think.

It makes him antsier. I can see it, taste it like the blood in my mouth. Oh, iron. Oh, fear.

If Tyler was here, he'd lean on those windows and get them splotched with dirt and worse. Those windows, they're spotless because my boss pays into the building fund with company money to get an old spanish speaking lady to wipe the glass clean before he arrives each morning. I saw her once, at a support group for some combination of cancer and impoverishment. She coughed, introducing herself. Said she couldn't speak well, but wanted company. She has to keep working, but it's making her sick.

The building doesn't pay her enough that she can buy PPE in between their scant offerings, so she's without a mask most of the times I've seen her.

Truthfully, there's been someone else under the building's thumb for a while now.

I found a different group for Thursday nights.

I still think I'll hear Rosa's wheezing when I see her cart by the restrooms.

My prolonged silence, it's unnerving him now, so he's puffing up like a bluffing frog.

I am still with my boss, and I've been staring at a damp spot of drywall behind his head as he yaps at me about how I need to follow dress code. Raise my numbers. Be more engaged.

I should be a precious bouquet of flowers, brightening up the office.

He just wants to help me out. Get me back on track. We used to have amazing figures coming out of Compliance and Liability, my one-man department.

If Tyler was here, he'd be filling the janitor's Windex bottles with 90 proof and blue dye instead, so when my boss comes in early for once in his life and spooks Rosa's replacement, the bottle gets spilled all over my boss and his carpet and his desk and then my workplace smoking habit really would be a fire hazard.

I tune back in, and my boss is informing me that it's with his sincerest regrets that he has to tell me that I won't be getting my bonus this year, oh, maybe something if I shape back up, yeah, he's sure he could fight upper management for me if I showed a good effort. He just wants to help, but I have to help him help me.

Whatever is going on in my life, it's got to be over.

I imagine going to Tyler. Going to fight club. Saying, let's pack it up boys. Fight club's over. I need to sit pretty for my boss so he can feed me a quarter of the salary he always conveniently has to withhold each year, due to all sorts of things impacting the car industry. A typhoon hit mainland China. The US dollar grew too fast with the collapse of the Soviet Union. A sparrow chirped in Belgrade on a Wednesday.

The usual.

Fight club's over. I've got to go be a recall campaign coordinator full time. Working hours, waking hours, what's the difference?

Tyler is always telling me, I could follow my boss home, and when he goes to work on his stupid meaningless hobby in the nice little air conditioned shed at the edge of his two acre two storey home, I could lock him in with nothing but millet. And when he runs out of millet, I could drag his body out and drown him in his pool, laced with armagnac, just like the French do it. And I could pluck and roast the corpse and eat it uncovered, hoping God has no choice but to see me now.

Or I could just give him a poisoned bottle of whiskey.

There's many options, according to Tyler.

The thing is. The truth is, I like my boss.

It's Tyler who wants to come in in the early morning and when my boss pushes open the door to his office, it's Tyler who wants to have a block of concrete in a bucket fall down and crack his skull like a rotten egg, looney tunes style.

It's not me. I gave my boss soap for the mandatory holiday office gift exchange.

I tell my boss, thank you for the concern.

Unfortunately, my grandmother's diagnosis seems dire, and it's unlikely I'll be able to switch gears before the year rolls over in March. Apologies.

He looks at me, and my battered face, at stitches painted across my temple. I can tell, he wants to shake me. Demand from me, why I can't I even pretend to give him a real excuse? Why do I have to make his life so very difficult? Why can't I just keep the broken toddlers from coming out of the woodwork with a smile on my face?

But he doesn't. He says, my condolences. It sounds a lot like get the hell out of my office.

With that in mind, I get up and take a nice, long moment to watch nothing through his huge, sparkling windows. Papers conspicuously rustle. There's the ambient noise of pointless keyboard clicking. I take a sip of my coffee. Behind me, my boss starts to pretend to get a call in hopes it gets me to move on, and I'm watching construction crews like ants. Perks of the job, indeed.

[snowblossomreads]

Day 2 - Restless Waiting

Pairing: Hans Gruber x Fem!Reader

Summary: Unaware of the true nature of her boyfriend's job, [Y/n] bids him a weary farewell before Christmas. Things began to crash and burn around her shortly thereafter.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): goodbyes, sadness, a little fluff at one point, things blowing up, not too much crazy in this one!

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: And in something totally different! Next on our list is the very handsome, the very suave, and the most polite thief you'll ever meet. Hans! This is my first time writing for him and he's quite soft for his little love so hopefully it's enjoyable! Off we go then!

When Hans told [Y/n] he had another job planned out and that it was to be on Christmas, she couldn’t deny the rush of frustration and worry that pulsed through her veins.

Frustration, because he would be missing another Christmas with her as his jobs, as he so lightly put them, always seemed to take him away from her during the holidays.

But also worry, because while she didn’t know what exactly these jobs entailed of as he never elaborated it on them more than he had to, she knew they were dangerous. He would often times come back with a new bruise here and a new scar there that had her fretting over him asking him what had happened. And all he would say was that it was just an accident. 

Accident her ass.

Also it had to be something unconventional because how else would he be funding the extravagant way they lived? A beautiful penthouse in the middle of a bustling city. Luxury trips as gifts to her for putting up with him missing holidays and important dates as he had once stated. And the purchase of expensive clothes and jewelry that he spoiled her with just because.

She wasn't dumb no, and she had a slight inkling that what he did may have also been on the gray side of the law. But by the time she had figured it out she was too deeply in love with the man standing in front of her to leave.

A man who was readying himself to leave for a job that had been in the making for months. One that was more lucrative than any single one he had done, and one he was keen on making work.

Was it dangerous absolutely. But what job didn't have its dangers, especially one with a payout of over $600 million dollars in untraceable bearer bonds. Oh, the risk and danger was well worth it.

Though Hans did have to admit the forlorn look in his [Y/n]'s eyes did give him pause as he readied himself to meet up with the rest of his crew. Would he abandon such a intricate plan all because of a look? Of course not. But she did give him pause which is closer than anyone has ever gotten to making him maybe rethink his plans.

"Liebchen don't look that way. You know I'll come back as always, " Hans murmured in that accented English that had captivated her when he had first approached her a many years ago. "Do not mar that pretty face of yours with something like that I much more prefer your smile so I can keep it in my memory until I return."

Smile? But for what. He wasn't giving her much to smile about as he finished his preparation, going back and forth between rooms gathering his suitcase and other things before making his way to the front door of their home.

"Oh right I should definitely smile because my boyfriend is going away yet again before Christmas for the third time in a row for some shady business he has yet to tell me about." She muttered under her breath while crossing her arms over her chest looking like a tantruming child.

It only made Hans grin as he stalked up to her, cornering her in between the wall and the door and causing her to cower a little. Not out of fear but at how close he was, so close she could feel his breath tickle her skin, warm with a hint of of the bourbon he had drank earlier on to 'warm oneself' as he said.

"What are you talking about? Have I not given you this beautiful home?" He questioned leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead. "Have I've not given you the designer clothes and the pretty jewelry that make you smile?" He added as he moved down to kiss her on each cheek. “Have you nothing to to smile about when I take you on trips, and make you squirm in pleasure on the expensive sheet of some bed far away from here?"

Cheeks feeling warm from the closeness and the seductive tone he was taking on knowing good and well she was very susceptible to it, [Y/n] was quick to try and push him away just to get some space in between them.

"H-Hans you that's not what I'm talking about and you know it!" She exclaimed and stuttered out all at once at the very smug face of Hans who seemed to be amused at how flustered she was. 

Damn him!

"I want to spend time with you during Christmas. Together as a couple and maybe even let my parents, who keep asking about you by the way, meet you!" Her words were punctuated with a little stomp and she knew it was a tad childish but she didn't care wanting him to understand how much she was against him leaving.

"I know I know and I will meet them I promise. This job though, it's a big one, if it all goes well it will be the last one. No more holidays away from you I promise you that."

His words dripped sincerity and his amber eyes burned with honesty as he took her hand into his and kissed her knuckles. Usually, the scratchy feeling of his beard tickling her skin would make her laugh, but she was so upset that she couldn't find it in herself to be amused. Only bitter.

"Somehow I don't believe that," she muttered dejectedly as tears began to try and work their way into her eyes betraying the chanting in her head that was telling her to not cry.

Worry was the only thing on her mind as she always worried about him. She didn't know what she would do if something happened to him. It hurt too much and it was the cause of the tears that leaked down her cheeks causing Hans to frown.

"What if something happens Hans. What happens if something goes wrong, what happens if you don't-."

She couldn't get the words out as the thought of him not coming home had her in shambles.

"My love, mein Liebchen," he pleaded as he kissed the top of her head and went to wipe the tears that had escaped. “Do not cry you know I do not like these tears of yours they upset me."

"Good because at least you know how you're making me feel," [Y/n] whimpered out as she tried to meet his eyes but failed as she let out another sniffle.

Whilst his heart did not enjoy seeing her upset, he knew what he had to do and even if it made her sad, too much was riding on him and his leadership. Because who else could come up with a plan as intricate and detailed as him?

"I promise I will be safe and that nothing will go wrong. Have I ever broken a promise between us?" He asked pulling her into a tight hug that had her shaking in his hold as she felt far more afraid than usual but was unsure why.

"Liebchen?"

"No you haven't but what if...what if something does go wrong? You always come home with bruises or scars when things go right and I just-."

"Hush enough of that," he interrupted just as [Y/n] voice cracked and she buried her face into the soft fabric of his shirt. His hand rubbed comforting circles on her lower back as he tried to calm her and it seemed to work as she began to be able to catch her breath again.

"Nothing will go wrong I promise. It is the holidays and what is it that you Americans always say, Christmas is a time of miracles no?"

Letting out a pitiful laugh and a sniffle before looking up at him with red rimmed eyes, she nodded but not without saying,

"We do but I also don't want to bet your return on a miracle they don't work sometimes."

His chuckle was deep and a bit nasally yet it vibrated in her body and made her stomach do little flips just at the sound of it.

"No miracles then, I will make sure we do not need any. But I must go now my company is waiting for me and we cannot be late."

Even if she begged him to stay she knew he would go as that man was stubborn and had a strong will that drove her crazy at times. Yet it was something she had grown to love as she knew he would do anything for her if she asked. Well anything but staying behind from a job...

Sighing she nodded and unhanded him still giving him a worried look.

"Promise me you'll be safe?"

"Yes of course especially when I have you to come home to." He affirmed confidently right before leaning down and planting a kiss on her lips as if sealing the deal.

The squeak of surprise that left her transformed into a tiny moan as she pawed at his front sighing as he deepened the kiss by bringing a hand to the back of head and putting light pressure on it to bring her closer.

There they stood for what felt like forever kissing and whispering soft words that only the other could here. And they exchange those words and lines, one being,

"Ich liebe dich mien Liebchen," whispered passionately in a soft husky voice by Hans as his amber eyes were trained on her for a moment before he pulled away from her embrace.

It made her a bit sad no longer being enveloped by his warmth. But she watched quietly as he gathered his bags and walked out the door into the elevator that serviced their building.

Turning around, he gave her a tiny smirk that had her heart leaping. And when the chime of the elevator dinged and the doors began to close she waved at him until they were parted by the heavy steel doors. Yet [Y/n] couldn't stop the queasy feeling in her stomach that lingered long after he was gone a little sigh leaving her before she whispered,

"I love you too sweetheart."  While looking forlorn at the emptiness in between her and where he had been before closing the door to their home.

It was Christmas day and she had paced around the house many times, waiting restlessly on Hans and his call.

Though once the clock struck 9pm and there was no word from him she knew something was wrong as he had promised to call around that time. And he never broke his promises.

As to distract herself from the thoughts she decided to turn on the TV to put on some sappy Christmas movie even if it made her sadder knowing that he wasn't with her.

Though that quickly changed when the TV turned on to a black and white photo of the man she had been waiting for to call. The sheer surprise and confusion had knocked her down onto the sofa and the words that were being said by the female news anchor only confused her more.

There were hostages being held in some building that was far from where he said he would be. And he was the leader of some terrorist group doing the hostage taking. And something about being in a terrorist group while he was in Germany but being kicked out?

What what what? She felt as if her mind was spinning as his picture stayed burned in on the top corner of the screen as the newscasters talked about some  Helsinki syndrome or some other.

All while [Y/n] mind continued to spiral. Her Hans? A terrorist? Holding people hostage? No that wasn't him. It couldn’t be him.

"No no this has to be some kind of joke," she whispered to herself as she tried to change the channel wanting to ignore what could not be ignored.

Yet each channel she turned to showed the same news story even on children's programming did the news interrupt as it was the biggest story of the year.

Hopping up from her seat,she began to pace anxiously. Her mind tried to tell her that it was a mistake and that it was the wrong person they were talking about. But unfortunately, her attention was taken back when the newscasters began shouting and she whipped her head back just in time to see an explosion on the top of the building.

The shout she let out could probably be heard by her upstairs and downstairs neighbor as she stared at the TV in dumbfounded awe.

"Oh my god that were people up there they've just killed all those people good lord!"

Shouted the newscaster as they all screamed and shouted over one another. But the only thing [Y/n] could comprehend as she watched the flames engulf the top of the tower causing some of it to crumble away was that her relationship was beginning to crumble just the same as the tower.

A/N: Heheheh will Y/n ever find out the truth about her beloved Hans? Who knows stay tuned (i hope!) Let me know how we are feeling about this story friends! until next time👋💖

Tag: @deepperplexity

[violetasteracademic]

Hey bestie, was just wondering when chapter two comes out 🙂‍↕️ been refreshing ur page once an hour for dayyyyyys. 💓

Hi my friend!! So funny you should ask, it will be ready to go up by early evening tonight! I will let you know as soon as it is posted! (I'm in US central time zone. So about 6-7 hours from now)

I'm so honored and delighted to have you reading the new fic 🥹 I don't like to share toooo much of my personal life on here because this fandom is sadly not always kind to artists and writers when it comes to the hostility of the ship wars, but I do want to give a heads up that A Court of Twisted Fate will not be coming out *quite* as fast as Golden Doe in a Valley of Shadow. I blacked out and wrote almost 100k words of Golden Doe in a total disassociative bender in under a month and a half while I was in between homes, closing the final chapter of my old life after a long fought for divorce, and set aside my 10 year long business and career. I was in a weird little vortex and could easily get a chapter out every few days. I want to be honest with myself and all of you that I will not be able to match that pace right now without massively sacrificing on quality and thorough edits!

If I haven't said it enough, you guys truly have no idea what the response to Golden Doe meant to me. Writing that fic helped me survive a very difficult time. I had never written a fic before and didn't even have an ao3 account, I had to wait a few weeks to be allowed in. I had no idea anyone would read it, and sharing that story wound up being one of the most special and joyful times of my life, which seems impossible when I look back on what I was going through! I just... Thank you. I don't know what else to say. Thank you a million times, every day, forever.

I am starting life completely over in a new city and a 1940's bungalow that has had a few catastrophes since moving in 🫣 I'm hard at work job hunting in this nightmare economy and fixing up the urgent items in the house! So it's a different kind of busy filled with lots of fear and anxiety and mental exhaustion. Thus, I'm also trying to give myself lots of time to heal and recover. I'm hoping for a chapter once a week this round, but I might need some grace for up to two weeks!

This might be a good opportunity to answer some other questions I've gotten. Some have noticed the new rating is M instead of E. There WILL still be smut, but this is more of a dark and spooky old school style slow burn and very story forward. And while I hesitate to say the spice will be more vanilla, it is not as kink forward as Golden Doe! It will still be spicier and more detailed than what SJM would typically write (y'all she's tame in my book) but a different style. That being said, the piece is not finished. Sooooo.... 🦇 we'll see if kinky Azriel body snatches me again and demands that the spice be freakier and more frequent. In which case I'll update the rating.

Golden Doe started as an M rating and 15 planned chapters, and we all saw how that worked out!

I'm pushing myself to create a unique world and characters that are not just a carbon copy of Golden Doe in a Valley of Shadow. Of course, it is still canon Elain and Azriel! But I'm focusing on different sides of them. I hope you all enjoy it just as much, but if it winds up not being your vibe, do know I have a few ideas bouncing around for Golden Doe continuations, additional Elriel fics, and my inbox is always open for ideas and prompts/requests!!

[matan4il]

Don't think I'll get over the irony of someone posting about the whole "40 beheaded babies" is a lie thing and then saying the death toll is 33000-55000.

Where the hell did they get 55000? Never seen that claimed by anyone, not even hamas. But, yeah Israel is the evil lier.

Like, how the heck can someone decry something as a lie while spewing lies? The fact that post had so many reblogs makes me think everyone is a dumb hypocritical asshole.

Hi Nonnie, I absolutely agree with you! In fact, the "40 beheaded babies" was people conflating two different things (confusing a report that there WERE Israeli kids and babies beheaded, tortured and mutilated, with a specific number that was reported in a different context) and basically creating a strawman argument (that's when people in a debate argue something the opposing side said isn't true, even though that side never said it). Which makes the fact that people who screamed about it were actually lying when they were (or supporting a lie) while they continue to take the unreliable (at the very least) Hamas numbers as gospel truth.

I've also noticed the inexplicable inflation of numbers related to Palestinians in a lot of different contexts. It's like the anti-Israel lie is never big enough, so people have to keep inflating it! There's the 33,000 fatalities claimed by Hamas which keeps being inflated by people online (I haven't seen specifically the 55,000 figure, but I have seen people constantly up the number from that claimed by Hamas).

There's the number of how many Palestinians lived in Gaza before the war. Officially, it's 2.1 million people, but then I saw people start to quote it as 2.2 million Gazans, then 2.3 million, and once I've even seen a post claiming there were 2.5 million people in Gaza before the war, I guess all in attempt to make Israel out to be a bigger monster, by exaggerating the number of people endangered and suffering due to this war.

I've also seen the number of north Gazans finding refuge in Rafah grow exponentially... Over one night (between Feb 12 and 13 according to our time zone), when Israel was rescuing 2 of its hostages held in Rafah from Hamas in a limited operation (it had to be limited in scope, so as not to alert too many terrorists to what Israel was doing, and increase the danger to the soldiers and hostages), Tumblr filled up with anti-Israel posts claiming that Israel had started bombing/has launched its ground operation in Rafah, and was nastily doing it during the Superbawl to take advantage of how distracted Americans would be (I cannot stress enough how much Israelis have no idea about the Superbawl... or American football in general). To make it all the more emotionally loaded, they kept insisting that Israel is bombing all the Gazans who found refuge in Rafah, and it's insane to see how the number of evacuees increases by hundreds of thousands over the course of just a few hours, from 1.1 million refugees in the first posts to 1.5 or 1.6 in some of the posts made later that same night.

I guess there's just no number that can't be fabricated if your goal is to turn people against the Jews...

I hope you're doing well, Nonnie! xoxox

[soraviie]

angst to fluff (basically they’re learning how to love each other but jk makes some mistakes and so does yn and they fight with each other and they think about breaking up but then they don’t)

Yeah...perhaps you shouldn't have come here tonight.

The air is stifling between you. It's so damn...awkward that you don't even know how to act. You open your mouth to remark about anything, fuck, you could talk about weather as long as you talked but since no sound left your mouth, the conversation was ended before it even began.

Maybe you should just break up.

If you could break up with someone you never even dated.

Either way, this trying thing was not working out, though not for the lack of trying. Opposites sounded so fun on the paper. In the distant, impersonal theory you could compliment him where he lacked and vice versa but in the unsatisfactory reality you just were stuck at a seesaw. You didn't understand each other, not even a bit. You didn't understand his devotion to the stage, he didn't understand your profound disappointment of how life was built overall. You were just...too different. Not two puzzle pieces but two star systems, circling each other but never quite meant to interact, unless of course there's a collision in which one of them is left splintered into unamendable pieces. And lately collision was all you were feeling.

"Let's just...try. Once more," Jungkook mumbles quietly, absent-mindedly stirring the chicken. You both knew that in situation such as this you probably won't stay for dinner but he needs something to do. Since he's not allowed to hold you anymore, the only other thing to do would be to dig his nails into the side of his palm so that this pain distracts the other one. The one far harsher.

"We did try," you point out sadly. "We gave it our honest effort, Koo."

"So what? That's it?" he harshly snaps his head to meet your downcast gaze, irritation sneaking its way into his voice. "We're just done? Giving up like that?"

You barely restrain yourself from sighing. This was yet another stark difference between you. Like an angered ram Jungkook was perfectly content with driving his head against the problem until it molded to his liking. You liked to leave things. If they did not help you, why even bother.

"How many last chances do you want me to give? For you to give me?"

"A hundred if I must. I don't fucking care," he spits, stirring the chicken a tad too aggressively. Your eyes fall to the rough movements, finding his knuckles white around the pan's handle. "You know what your problem is, ____________?"

"Just...stop," tiredly, you drag. "I don't want to fight."

He sags, all fight knocked out of him with one clean kit.

"Neither do I," he admits weakly. "Just...let's try, please. Let's compromise."

You really should say no. Just go. Just leave, like you did before but something about Jungkook makes you want to stay. One thing was certain, for better or worse, you won't ever find anyone like him. With his faults and all.

"If you want we can go to couple's counselling. Talk to a third party."

You raise your brows at his statement. Jungkook loathed to air our your personal laundry, in fact, he'd been so vocal about it that not even in the confines of your mind you allowed the possibility to ever take root.

"But you hate-"

"I want to try so I'll try," he interrupts sternly, however, his eyes are wide and pleading. "I know I've said it a million times but let's give each other one last chance, okay?"

send in a picture of the boys and I'll write a scenario

[punsmaster69]

8/DEC/20XX

a deep breath, and i feel a sense of nostalgia.

weird nostalgia. wouldn't go back, but i still think fondly of what happened.

the crispness of the cold air in snowdin takes me back- and i'm already reminiscing about random memories.

point to almost any rock formation along the walls of this place, and papyrus can probably tell you exactly how he's climbed it.

kicking the snow with my slippers a little bit, i remember how he used to warn me about wearing 'em outside.

—-

"YOU'LL SLIP AND FALL IN THOSE!!"

"naahh. i'll be fine."

"......"

"SEE? EVEN GRILLBY AGREES IT'S A BAD IDEA!!"

—-

for the most part, i always was fine; just had to be careful around the ice.

fortunately, it's not an issue using shortcuts; really only ever slipping a few times.

—-

"I SAID THIS WOULD HAPPEN."

"you've slipped even in your boots."

"THAT WAS A ONE-OFF ACCIDENT!"

"so was this."

sliding me across the ice until we were close enough to the snow to stand again, papyrus lifted me onto my feet once more.

"I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA."

"you've gotta admit that over two weeks without slipping in these is pretty good."

"THERE'D HARDLY BE SLIPPING AT ALL IF YOU WOULD JUST PUT ON BETTER FOOTWEAR."

"these are way better."

"OBVIOUSLY NOT?! YOU 𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 SLIPPED!"

"but with snow boots, you have to tie 'em and whatnot."

"YOU DO THAT WITH MOST SHOES, SANS."

"not with slippers."

"YOU'RE GOING TO WEAR SLIPPERS ALL THE TIME.."

"JUST SO THAT YOU DON'T HAVE TO TIE THEM?"

"yep."

"that's the plan."

"YOUR ABILITY TO CONSISTENTLY FIND THE LAZIEST ROUTE IN EVERY ASPECT OF LIFE CONFOUNDS ME, BROTHER."

"IT'S ALMOST IMPRESSIVE."

"thanks. that's the one thing i do put effort into."

"...BEING LAZY."

"it's hard work, doing this little."

—-

ahh.

back when new bad habits of mine still surprised him.

...speakin' of bad habits.

grillby's looks like it hasn't been touched since the day we took all the important stuff up.

the most one'll find in there now is a fine layer of dust only disturbed by me brushing against some stuff.

not that the jukebox ever worked before, but i'm pretty sure it wouldn't turn on if you tried at this point.

——

already knew the librarby was empty; they gave away all the books before leaving to the surface.

took the sciencey ones, myself.

wanted the joke book too, but a certain old lady got to it first.

officially, it is hers.

unofficially, the book keeps bouncing between being in either of our possession for months at a time.

it's gained a few pages over the years, a lined-paper section at the end with a lotta skeleton and snail puns.

think paps split the cookbooks with someone, and hoarded the puzzle books.

(not like anyone else was readin' those, anyway.)

there were a couple on monster history i'm almost certain i've seen frisk with a few times, so they must've gotten those.

as charming as this little place was, the new library's got way more selection.

sorry, not library.

still librarby.

they kept the name. too iconic to change it.

even if it had been changed, we'd all continue to call it the librarby anyway.

——

many of the folks who had shops down here have taken up that same role on the surface.

the two bunnies running the inn and shop moved somewhere closer to new home city for better business.

——

in the snow, i did what i'd done a million times in the past.

i parked myself at the foot of the door which separated snowdin from the ruins.

—-

"knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

she'd say.

"cash."

"Cash who?"

"no thanks, i'm more of a walnut guy."

and i'd heard her burst out into laughter from the other side.

"Knock, knock."

"who's there?"

"Hatch."

"hatch who?"

"Oh, bless you."

then she'd laughed at her own joke hard enough to be contagious.

"knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"canoe."

"Canoe who?"

"canoe come out here? i'm gettin' bonely."

she got a good kick out of that one, but her laughter had a tinge of sadness to it.

"...But, I am afraid not."

didn't expect any different of an answer.

always thinking it better not to ask quite why, i shrugged.

"one day, maybe."

"or not."

"you could just be mysterious door lady forever if you want."

"....."

"Knock, knock."

"who's there?"

"Peas."

"peas who?"

"Peas excuse my secretiveness. I know it can be a bit off-putting."

"everyone's got their secrets, 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸 problem to me if you keep a few."

"Ha! I am glad that you are so 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭 with it."

"It is a joy to hear your 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 jokes every day!"

"nice to have someone with an a-𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳-able laugh to tell 'em to."

my slight regret about that pun immediately washed away upon hearing the laugh in question follow after it.

—-

....welp.

as fun as reminiscing has been, i've definitely left papyrus alone for far too long.

gotta spend at least a little time in the snow with him.

that's what we came back here for in the first place.

——

"WHEN DO YOU THINK IT'LL SNOW ON THE SURFACE?"

"it's supposed to get pretty cold soon, so probably not too long now."

"besides."

"if your desire for snow gets too awful bad, we'll just come down here again."

"WE SHOULD BRING FRIENDS WITH US NEXT TIME!"

"would be cool to re-visit the whole underground with everyone after all this time."

"OH!"

he sat straight up in the snow, scattering the powder around as he did so.

"YOU KNOW WHAT WE SHOULD DO?"

"what's that?"

"COME, COME! QUICKLY!!"

——

from that very same spot we all first looked in awe at our new future, me and him watched the sun set.

golden light poured over everything; sun beams warm in contrast to the town we've left once again.

"WHEN WE FIRST MOVED OUT FOR GOOD, I REALLY THOUGHT I'D MISS IT MORE."

"THOUGH, I DIDN'T EXACTLY HAVE THAT FEELING OF TRAPPED-NESS ON THE SAME LEVEL EVERYONE ELSE SEEMED TO."

"IT'S HARD TO GET BORED WHEN YOU'RE THE MOST ENTERTAINING SKELETON AROUND!"

"WITH THE COOLEST BROTHER AROUND."

"aww."

"...MAYBE I DID FEEL TRAPPED A LITTLE.. BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER ANYMORE."

"WE'RE ALL ON THE SURFACE TOGETHER, AND THAT 𝗜𝗦 WHAT MATTERS!"

when he turned to look at me, i couldn't tell whether his face was lit up more by the sun or the smile he had.

"I'M REALLY HAPPY HERE."

"me too."

[agent-cupcake]

what's your process on writing dialogue, and do you have any tips? i feel that no matter what i do, what i write is cringey and robotic.

MOST IMPORTANTLY, you're going to be your own harshest critic. People reading fanfiction are familiar with the characters, and their imagination can fill in a lot of what you might think are weak points. Also, practice is basically the biggest factor here, no amount of advice from a hack fraud like myself will matter if you're not out there on the grind.

BUT I'm an egomaniac and love talking about myself so here is my process and advice.

I watch/listen to their scenes a million times and pay attention to intonation, physical movements, vocal quirks or way of speaking. Emet-Selch, for example, uses archaic English words and is very formal VS OPLA Buggy who is a snappy, crass boy.

I write the scene so I know what their dialogue has to convey and get a general idea of mood and tone. Sometimes I do dialogue only, sometimes I just skip dialogue and leave a note about what they need to say. The point is that I've got material to work with.

Reread the bullshit I have just spewed out onto the document and have a minor breakdown about how terrible of a writer I am.

Remind myself that I am God and everything I type is gold.

Work and rework the lines while referencing canon material, reading them out loud (which helps to check the cringe factor too), and making sure the conversation and dialogue work together to have the scene do what I need it to do. I am garbage at technical editing but almost every piece of dialogue in my stories has probably seen at least some revision to fit it to the scene and character. The most important thing for me, ultimately, is that I can imagine exactly how the character would deliver the line. I've mentioned it before and I will again that getting Buggy's "voice" right was hard for me.

As for advice, tagging dialogue is your friend. In my opinion, it is the best way to make the dialogue flow more naturally. People very rarely speak in unbroken monologues. They're gonna be gesturing and moving and pulling faces and all that sort of stuff. You'd be surprised how much of a difference adding something as simple as a 'he said' can make when it comes to the way the dialogue is read. Words aren't entirely static, there's power in creating visual space between things on the page itself.

Since you're asking me specifically I'll use an example from my own writing for what I mean. I think there's a valuable difference between-

“Hey. What’s with the attitude?” Buggy asked.

and

“Hey,” Buggy said irritably, reaching out to tug on one of your twintails to force you towards him. You yelped, grabbing his hand. “What’s with the attitude?”

[vaelzz]

I'm curious: do you think AI art should be considered art or not? I honestly don't agree with it because it's just plain lazy, but I want to hear your opinion about it.

Been procrastinating on this ask because there is a lot to be said. I've actually written about 10k words around AI art throughout the year which I've been planning to breakdown and make digestible because I know no one wants to read a massive text wall randomly.

For the most part I'm pretty conflicted, I do think that people relying on AI to create art with no understanding of beforehand tends to lead to these repetitive and soulless pieces with no substance. From a technical perspective it's usyally pretty impressive albeit with some minor defects, it has all the bells and whistles of what you'd think would be art yet it fails to actually feel like art.

Over time this has led me to believe that AI is just a tool like all the other tools that came before it that made things easier, it's an amplified version of the same principle. However there is a distinction between art and craft. It just makes the technical side faster and more professional but without a lack of intent and personal touch you are always going to get these soulless pieces with AI models as most are trained on other people's artworks/styles. 95% of AI art I see is just complete garbage and you can tell it's AI because all the AI pieces typically have a pretty distinct style so you just end up being flooded by millions of AI art pieces in a spammy fashion by people that have nothing to say or express. It's actually pretty offensive to all the hardwork and lifetime artist's have spent learning their craft but the worst part is that it causes oversaturation so the public perception of art's value goes down. This means unless you are already well known or insanely talented no one is going to give a fuck about you or your art unless you have a close group of friends interested in art. So overall as an artist it just means spending countless hours, weeks, months, years? Alone and isolated working on things traditionally for no real return which is fine if it's for fun but it feels like you have to make such heavy sacrifices to even make art in modern society. Simply for no one to truly value or appreciate it.

I know it's going to be adapt or die to keep up so I've been experimentint painting, blending and compositing different elements generated with AI in Photoshop to make new and original things but I do also feel perpetually guilty about it so I have rarely posted any but I will mention that I'm still putting tons of hours and effort into creating. It just puts me in a weird spot because implementing AI tends to carry the connotation of the AI is doing all the work (which can be true for the soulless spammy pieces around) but the fact it's not entirely AI or entirely done from hand just puts me in an anxious loop lol. But ultimately I have this idea in my head that I'd like to get out faster but often I just end up actively handicapping myself and spending many hours extra for stuff that people aren't going to care about.

I think intent matters massively in all of this and I'm still debating and questioning myself. I think on this account though I'll continue to post any non-AI work and post mixed Art implementing AI on my new account idiovoidi

I've been posting to Tumblr since 2013 on/off so I'd hate to discredit all the work I've done over the years.

[loupy-mongoose]

Just out of curiosity, how long is the lifespan of a mew in this universe? Would they more or less live as long as the average man or ‘mon, or are they capable of living for centuries?

If they do have an extended lifespan, then do they happen to see any side effects of aging at all, or do they stop aging entirely after reaching adulthood?

Lastly, would Lavender or potentially even Randy be and different from, say, Akoya or the twins in any of these regards?

Well this got long. XD I'll start by saying they aren't immortal, for two reasons; One, I can't wrap my brain around writing just one character that's millions or even thousands of years old, let alone however many I end up with. Two, I want room to have lots of Mew characters, and immortality would eventually lead to overpopulation.

There's a TL;DR at the bottom, if the following text wall is too much.

I've talked a bit about their lifespan before, but I can't fully remember what I said about it (I think I said they can live between 100 and 200 years), and I actually want to change it a bit.

The average lifespan of Mews in my world is around the same as human, or maybe a little shorter for Mews that don't have the same access to man-developed life extending measures. So (barring outside interference from predators and the like), maybe between 50 and 100 years for wild Mews, closer to 100 for Mews among humans.

However, they can live to be much older if they can hone their transformation ability. If they can learn to transform life-threatening issues away, then they can considerably expand their lifespan. Anything that doesn't instantly kill or incapacitate a Mew can be healed through transformation.

So with that, how don't they live forever? Well, my head-canon is that their power begins to diminish after so many years (maybe up to 200, give or take depending on the Mew), to the point that their transformation no longer works. They will also show signs of aging the same as humans and other Pokemon. (Or animals, for a more real-life equivalent.)

Mews with a strong understanding of health and the threats to it, alongside their transformation, will have a much better chance of living unusually long lives.

As far as Lav and Randy, they fall under the same rules. At this point, Randy wouldn't be able to extend his life as far as Akoya would, because he doesn't practice transforming as much as she does. (Though I haven't shown it much, she's comfortable becoming other Pokemon while he isn't.) And Lav's transform isn't as capable as normal Mews, so she also may not be able to extend her lifespan, at least to the same degree. Nico is unable to transform at all, so he will live to be between 80-100 years.

If you read all that, thank you. I truly appreciate it. X3

TL;DR: Mew lifespan in my world is roughly 50-100 years, but can be extended to maybe about 200 years through honing Transform to remove life-threatening issues. Their power diminishes after a certain amount of time and they do start to age as normal people and Pokemon. Randy and Lav fall under this as well, so their lifespan depends on their ability to transform. Nico can't extend at all due to not being able to transform.

[foggyparadisecandy]

On Tackling Low Self-Esteem

Anyone who's been tuning in to my blog over the last few months knows that I've struggled with a poor self-image forever and a day.

[Thanks mom and dad for being righteous bastards!]

But I've also been working on it in very focused ways and ... surprising to me ... things have started to shift in a positive direction. I'll share a few things that have worked for me - and maybe some of you will benefit too.

Everyone is different ofc so ymmv.

Also as a word of warning: this shit is fucking hard. It's painful as hell because it requires me to question nearly every last thought, belief, and emotion that goes through my head. Some times it's so fucking maddening and exhausting and I'm super emotional these days.

But ... as I said ... it is starting to shift things for me. I'm not feeling the burning desire for external validation any more (as much). I'm not feeling like I need to be a people pleaser (as much). I'm not afraid of rejection or abandonment (as much).

I'm still working on it so I don't want anyone to think I'm some expert. And I'm certainly not a therapist. If you are really suffering, please seek professional help. My heart goes out to you.

THE FOUNDATION

Everyone always says "be kind to yourself" and "be compassionate." I've heard that a million times and it has never stuck until my therapist explained something important to me:

My dysfunctions are because my childhood identity was taught to act in certain ways before I had a logical brain to make sense of the horrible shit heaped on me by my parents. Read that again. For me, it was the key to all my progress.

Before I would get so ANGRY at myself for not learning lessons or doing the wrong things all the time or ... whatever. Now, I say, "it's ok, Foggy. Your inner child was taught coping strategies and you simply need to catch them and relearn them. Those things are deep inside you and it's going to take work. You are ok. You are a good person."

When we are kids and are exposed to trauma (in my case, an absentee alcoholic father and a mother who switched between obsessive love and literally "I'm going to drive this car into a tree at a hundred miles per hour and kill us all" - fun fun fun), our brains don't know how to process it. We create and lock in strategies for SURVIVAL. It gets hard-wired into us.

So ... yeah ... be kind to yourself and be compassionate to yourself. Because you are working against deep programming and it's going to take a while. Your subconscious is FUCKING UP YOUR SHIT because it learned to do what it had to for survival.

AVOID ABSOLUTES

"I always fuck things up."

"I never learn."

"People always disappoint me."

"I'm always going to be alone."

Nah. Untrue. None of those absolutes are true. And if you catch yourself using those words, you are, in essence, programming your own destiny of sadness.

My hypnosis experience tells me that ... we don't need inductions to program suggestions. Repetition does realllllllll well.

So when you say or think those absolute statements, you might think you are stating a simple fact about your life. But in reality, you are telling your subconscious COMMANDS. And you repeat them enough, well, fuck yeah it's going to become your reality.

Think about it a bit. And next time you catch yourself saying absolutes, do your best to soften them.

"I always fuck things up." -> "I fucked up this time." -> "I made a mistake and I'm going to learn from this, the best I can."

"I never learn." -> "This is a tough thing to learn." -> "Ok, I see what I did here. Next time, I'm going to do it different, the best I can."

etc. etc. Work on them. Shift them, transform them, transform your programming.

CHANGE YOUR TALK TRACK

Related to the above stuff, if you are going to program yourself, use powerful positive words. And if you can't believe the BIG STUFF, start small.

"I do my best."

"I work hard at things."

"I am surviving."

"I can count on myself in a jam."

"I have overcome horrible childhood trauma. I'm a survivor."

etc.

Look, friend ... if you've made it this far, you have gone through some real shit, right? You wouldn't be reading about fixing low self-esteem unless you had low self-esteem. So I'm guessing you've had some fucked up shit heaped on you.

And look at you go. You are still here. You are putting one foot in front of the other. You are capable of amazing things.

It might sound trite but I don't think so. NGL, I'm attracted to traumatized people. My therapist says trauma inflicted people can smell trauma on others and we feel bonds instinctively. I think that's true. And I've met a shit ton of hurting people and one thing that is universal: we're all strong and capable.

Examine your life and feel the truth of that. Start with that as your positive vibe to build upon. You are a survivor. You are capable of surviving. You are strong.

WATCH THE STORIES YOU TELL YOURSELF

I find that not everyone tells themselves stories about situations, people, and things. I do so this one hits me hard time and time and time again.

An example: someone I like or love doesn't text me back in a "reasonable time" (if it's someone I really love, reasonable time is immediately lol), I will start to wonder things. For those of you who don't suffer from this, this is going to sound ... nutty.

"I guess they don't like me any more."

"What did I do wrong?"

"I'm such a fuck up."

"They left me. I'm always going to be alone."

That’s pretty much spot on how it goes. And I'm guessing some of y'all are reading this and nodding your head.

The spiral goes deep and it happens fast over the smallest thing.

It could be a look someone gives you. Or they didn't laugh at a joke. Or they forget your birthday. Or they didn't remember that thing you told them a week ago that was important to you.

The stories we tell ourselves are so so so cruel. I still struggle with these. I get high anxiety and fear as my mind starts spiralling.

I'm learning to pause when I start telling myself a negative story about someone else, no matter how "true" the story seems. And ... fr fr fr ... THEY ALWAYS SEEM TRUE!!!!

I pause. I say ... what if there are other reasons at play? Maybe they didn't text back because they are busy? Maybe their phone is dead? Maybe they are in the car and can't text and drive? Maybe ... a million other things that have ZERO to do with me and my worth as a human being.

Because odds are ... that is what's happening.

And if not? If something is legit wrong in the relationshp? Well shit ... going into sad death spiral gloom and doom mode isn't helping anyone with anything. You know what does help? COMMUNICATION.

"Hey, I feel like we've been a bit distant lately. I wanted to check in to make sure everything is ok?"

"I want you to know that I've been feeling a bit of anxiety and want to talk through things. Can we do that?"

"You didn't text me back for a few days, and it made me very anxious. Is everything ok?"

You need to find the things for the specific situation but the right people are going to be ok with honest and open communication. If it scares them off, well, shit ... this is super hard for me to say lol but ... it's ok to let people go if they don't want to be authentic and don't want to deal with you being authentic.

But dial back your stories. Pause them. Remember the world doesn't revolve around you and if they didn't notice your hair cut, it doesn't mean the world has ended and they hate you. They have a million things going on in their life and I bet if you say "so what do you think of my new hair cut?", they will engage on it.

I've got more but ... this is already a lot.

Remember to be kind to yourself. Seriously. You are so strong and capable and you've come so far and faced so much hardship. You deserve someone to take care of you and ... that person you deserve is you.

Take care of you first. People have told me that for a long time and I never understood it.

It's so easy to care for others and be kind to others.

Turn that inwards. You got this.

[entropic-fantasy]

I'm going to say it a million times until all these butt-hurt solo stans and akgaes get it:

Just because Jungkook got a treatment that seems preferential (I'll add to this later), doesn't mean that none of the other members got a similar offer from Hybe nor that the company is preparing to turn from a BTS focus to a JK one.

We don't know ANYTHING about the behind the scenes negotiations, but we know something:

All members re-signed with Hybe, even having shares in the company. BTS could've split and made an unbelievably beneficial deal with one of the other companies because they're BTS. They are incredibly powerful, and you bet they have just as incredible lawyers. They could've founded their own label easily, if nothing would have been to their liking. BUT THEY STAYED. BTS aren't weak teens, unable to fend for themselves. They never had issues with standing up for their beliefs, which is why they stood out, and still continue to, from other Kpop acts.

The relationship between OT7 hasn't fallen apart. I've seen so many speculations about "oh, Vmin aren't close anymore" because of ONE hug. A speculation that was promptly debunked in a BangtanBomb. They all support one another whenever they can, and especially behind the scenes. No matter what Canon and motives certain parts of this fandom are trying to establish. I'm adding shippers onto the Solo-Stans and akgaes here, because it often are the more accepted shipping spaces that seem to give a platform to a lot of the harmful rethorics (i.e. the mistreatment of Jimin and Tae in comparison to Jungkook etc).

Every member has had his moment to shine. All 7 of them could've gone on a world tour like Yoongi did, and sold out. With ease. All 7 of them would've slayed a more US focused album promotion like Jungkook. Yes, there was certainly forecasts and finance meetings because Hybe are a company which BTS are employed by. But, again, BTS aren't mindless puppets. They didn't get where they are if they didn't stand up for themselves. So, at some point, they said no. What I find especially insidious are the people constantly focusing on the maknae line and trying to prove mistreatment while ignoring the releases of the hyungs/rapline. For certain issues people keep pointing out (restocking CDs) I have also seen posts from other fandoms saying similar things. Also: dear US-Army, the world doesn't revolve around you. Sincerely, an EU-Army that hasn't seen BTS live since before the pandemic.

Sorry to everyone who disagrees but I see Jungkook's success as a bonus to the entirety of BTS. A win for one of them is a win for the team. Everyone from OT7 had that effect, bringing in different subgroups and music fans into the fold. And no matter how much I myself f.e. love D-Day and Face, I also know that Jungkook has by far the biggest starpower apart from the group. They're ALL charismatic and beautiful, talented and intelligent, yet it's always Jungkook that has been shoved into the limelight by everyone else. It wasn't Hybe that gave him so many followers on Instagram, or TikTok. So many people online are quick to make his success a character flaw, assigning narratives and traits onto him, when we should be celebrating him like his hyungs are celebrating him.

Hybe isn't perfect. But there's no reason to vilify them or Jungkook until there is factual, irrefutable evidence and not just "trust me bro" rumours.

We don't even know what the JK brand is going to be - as far as I'm aware, at least. So let's hold our collective horses and not jump the gun.

I trust BTS 100%. I trust these full grown adults, who have been fighting their way upwards through an industry stacked against them for 10 years.

I trust Namjoon's intelligence.

I trust Seokjin no-bullshit attitude.

I trust Yoongi's tenacity.

I trust Hoseok's austerity.

I trust Jimin's fighting spirit.

I trust Tae's quiet strength.

And I trust Jungkook's perfectionism.

BTS don't do inequality - not after they fought so much to become the very sunbaenims they never had in the cutthroat industry of kpop. They run, and fight and pave the way.

To quote Haegeum:

Endless influx of information prohibits freedom of imagination, and seeks conformity of thought

All these painful noises blind you, and

Now it even infringes on freedom of thought

All the controversy incessantly

Triggers confusion in judgment uh

Really, what is it exactly that’s been restricting us?

Maybe we do it to ourselves

Slaves to capitalism, slaves to money

Slaves to hatred and prejudice

Slaves to YouTube, slaves to flexin’

Selfishness and greed have gone off the rails

I close my eyes and it's easy, it’s all so obvious

Opinions clearly split depending on what's to gain

Everyone's been blinded by envy and jealousy

Without realizing that they're putting shackles on each other

[airplanned]

WIP Wednesday

I've been reading a lot of dire and horrifying and amazing stories lately, and I wanted to write something Super Goofy.

So here's the One Piece guys trying to con Nami to win a bet, which goes exactly as well as expected and has no intro whatsoever.

...

"You bet on when we would hook up?" Zoro asks.

"Uhhh," Usopp says.

Why the fuck would they do that?  That's one of the weirdest things he's ever heard that didn't involve magic or unicycles or Luffy.

Okay, maybe it's not really that weird, but it still doesn't make any sense.

From across the room, Sanji looks so confused that he can't even speak, something that has never happened before.  He just has his stupid eyes squinted and his mouth half open about to say something.  Then a different something.  Then a different something..  Zoro's just thinking that maybe Usopp's nonsense has a silver lining after all, when Sanji eventually lands on, "...Why?"

Usopp looks back and forth between them, but doesn't answer.

"How much was the bet?" Sanji asks.

"A million berry?"  As soon as he says it, Usopp throws up his hands to defend himself.  "I was drunk!  And I don't have a million berry, so maybe if y'all could just hold out--I mean, if you could continue not making out until after midsummer, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'm not doing anything you'd appreciate right now," Zoro mutters, even though on second thought, not making out is exactly how he wants this situation to play out, so what is he even talking about?  Thankfully Usopp is too nervous to notice the stupid thing he just said, and Sanji has his head tilted as he thinks way too hard about something else.

"So Nami bet before midsummer," Sanji says.

"Yeah."

"And you bet before when?"

"I bet--Oh!  I bet never.  Because you two aren't like that.  Obviously.  See, I'm on your side."  He nods enthusiastically.

"Gonna call bullshit on that one, man," Sanji says.  "You bet even earlier."

"Whaaaat?  Meee?  That would be--That'd be the worst bet ever."

"A drunk bet," Zoro mutters.

What the fuck?  Why is the crew talking about him while they're drunk?

A smile spreads across Sanji's face.  Sharklike.  It makes Usopp back up a step.  It makes all the hair on the back of Zoro's neck stand on end.  Alarm bells go off in the back of his head.

Nothing good can come of that look.

"Usopp," Sanji says, "how would you like to make a third of a million berry?"

#

It's a bad plan.  The absolute worst kind of convoluted nonsense that's bound to go wrong and cause trouble.  At least this time no one's in danger of dying (unless Nami kills them).  And Zoro is used to going along with stupid-assed plans, resigned to his position as first mate to mitigate damage. 

He's also not gonna say no to a third of a million berries, and he'll get to get back at Nami for being too much in his business.

Honestly, he's kinda surprised the waiter came up with a plan that relies so heavily on fucking over Nami, but Zoro's not about to point that out.

"Alright, let's go through the plan one more time," Sanji says. "Usopp, your job is to patch the rip in the spare sail we've all been putting off.  She'll be pleased to see you're doing it, so when your hands are full and you ask her to go get you some more glue, she'll go get it for you."

For a brief moment, Zoro thinks maybe this whole scheme is a big double cross, intended to trick Usopp into doing the chores no one wants to do. 

"This will bring her down here to storage, where Zoro and I will wait.  We kiss once."  He holds up a single finger.  "When her footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs.  Then pull apart right after she opens the door.  She will have her evidence that the bet is won.  At this point--"  He points at Zoro.

"I say my line," he recites, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.  This is not the stupidest thing he's ever done, but it's close.

"And it is--"

"Get out."

"Good job, Mossball.  And I'll say, 'Don't speak to Nami like that!'"

"Then we fight."

"Exactly.  Win the bet and break up in one single swoop.  We can't have this charade going on any longer than it needs to.  I will defend her honor and you'll say--"

"This was a mistake."

"I am revolted that I touched you.  It must have been a moment of insanity."

"I will throw you off the front of the ship and then run you over."

"Perfect!" Sanji beams.  "Alright, let's win a million berries!"

Zoro and Usopp exchange a look.  Zoro's says, "This is fucking stupid."  Usopp's weird cringe that shows off all his bottom teeth says that he has no desire to do any part of this plan, but he's also very afraid of getting kicked in the chest.

Zoro rolls his eyes.  "Fuck it."

#

Now's the part in the brilliant plan that will supposedly fool Nami (for fuck's sake, this isn't gonna work) when they need to look like they were making out.

Ugh.

Just to be annoying, Zoro shoves at Sanji's jacket to get him to take it off.  Then tries to throw it on the floor when he's successful in getting it off, but the waiter catches it before it hits the ground.  "Hey!  Don't throw it on the floor.  That's a nice jacket!"  He sets it on top of a box so it won't wrinkle or something.

Zoro gives it a long look.

"What?"

"So we stumbled in here, tore off your jacket, and then stopped everything to gently fold it and set it down very carefully?  That's the story you're tell here?"

"Oh, and you think we should rip it in half or something?  You monster." He's going after the knot in his tie with more irritation than is probably good for it.

Zoro takes his seat on a crate chosen to be at optimal height and right in the line of sight of the door.  He shifts his swords around, but suspects they're going to be in the way no matter what. "At least throw it on the floor."

"It's dirty!"

Zoro rolls his eyes so hard his head hits the hull behind him. 

Now Sanji has his tie in his hands and is about to set it down in  tidy pile on top of his jacket before he thinks better of it.  His eyes dart to Zoro, and at his bland look, he tosses it onto a barrel in a way that Zoro guesses is supposed to make it look natural, but is actually overly-purposeful.

Sanji undoes like half the buttons on his shirt, and Zoro scruffs up his hair, and then he suddenly has a lap full of cook.  Before he can be overly-annoyed by this, Sanji's going after his hair, because apparently Zoro didn't do a good enough job making it disheveled on his own.  Zoro gets back at him by ruffling his hair, which gets way more messed up, and then tugging his shirt down one shoulder so it'll show off skin.

Zoro tries to adjust his swords again (hey, guess what, they're in the way) when Sanji tugs up Zoro's shirt by the hem until it's caught under his armpits.

"Stop touching my hair!"  Sanji swats at him and then glares from behind a lot of messed up hair.

Zoro snorts and then tries to use both hands to push it aside.

"I said stop touching it!"

"I'm not kissing you through the hair, dumbass."

"And whose fault is that?"

"All of this is your fault."

"I'll keep your cut then."

"This isn't gonna work."

"It's fine.  Shut up.  You--"

Someone's coming down the stairs.

For a second, they give each other wide-eyed looks, because fuck, they didn't not think any of this through.  And then her steps his the bottom of the stairs, and Sanji has a hand in his hair, yanking him into a kiss, that's brutal and moving and roaring.  Zoro's fist tightens on the dress shirt, pulling it further down his arm, using it to pull him closer.  Sanji's breath from his nose beats hot against his cheek, his hand splaying against Zoro's chest inside his rucked up shirt, his fingers chilly and Zoro's skin erupting in goosebumps. 

Zoro's trying to deal with the tongue in his mouth, making sure he gives back as good as he gets, so he misses the door opening, but he hears the sharp gasp.

When Sanji's head whips around, he looks appropriately shocked and terrorized.  Nami has a hand slapped over her mouth, her face red and her knuckles white where she's still holding the doorknob.

"Get out!" Zoro shouts.

"D--" Sanjis starts, but he doesn't even get the word out before Nami shouts, "Right!" spins on her heel, and slams the door behind her.

They stare at it in silence.

Neither of them breath.

From the other side of the door, Nami shouts, "Congratulations!" and then there's the sound of her running up the stairs.

Sanji's not moving at all.  Zoro thinks he might have died until he released his breath in a horrified, "Fuuuuuuck."

"Fuck," Zoro agrees.  He knew this was a bad idea.

"At least we won a million berries," he says, but then Sanji shifts his weight to cram a knee into his side.

[invisibleraven]

20 questions writer meme!

I wa tagged by my beloved @bananakarenina <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? In total across 5 fandoms, 124, 84 of those are JatP, and 5 of those are prompt fill compilations.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 1,674,136 uploaded as of right now, and I know that over 1 million of those words are JatP.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently just Julie and the Phantoms, but in past I wrote primarily for Glee/Glee RPF, and Teen Titans. There's no other fandom really interesting me enough to write for it at moment.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'm going to limit this to my JatP fics, but if you wanna check out my stories in my previous fandoms, well here's my AO3

And giving yourself to me can never be wrong my collection of smut prompt fills with 235 kudos

I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home the first installment of my Semisonic Sunset verse with 192 kudos

But came the dawn the show goes on (and I don't want to say goodnight) my PeterPatterLina soulmate AU with 169 kudos

Maybe this news can wait Part three (and the only non smutty part) of Semisonic Sunset with 124 kudos

Better walk the line my single dad Reggie PeterPatter fic with 124 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Honestly no I don't. I tried, once upon a time, but I just felt like no one really cared what I had to say, and then I didn't have the spoons for it, so I stopped. I know I should though, my brain just doesn't seem to like letting me.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hands down it is Haunted by the moments of what we used to be because every comment I got on it was some variation of how very dare you.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Generally I try to give all of my stories a happy ending, but for this one, I'll go with Yellow Wood  because it gave everyone a happy ending, no matter the path taken.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Currently no, but when the blacklist was a thing that happened, my name was second on there, so that kind of sucked.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Out of my 84 JatP fics, 24 are rated E, and my smut prompt fills are currently sitting at 80 something chapters, so you tell me. In honesty, I don't write smut as much anymore, as I find it a little more difficult to write and the response to anything rated above a T is vastly lower than anything else. But when I started in this fandom, it was what I was known for; see my point regarding the black list.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I actually kind of hate crossovers? If I'm looking for a fic to read on AO3, I always click the Exclude Crossovers choice. I'll write any and every AU I can, and I might add minor characters from said AU, but that's rare, and that's as close as I get.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Unfortunately yes. There was a person on WattPad who went and stole a bunch of different smutty JatP fics over a year ago, and one of mine was amongst them. They were reported, and the fic was taken down. This is why now my fics on AO3 are only available to registered AO3 users.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but if anyone ever wants to do a translation or podfic of any of my stories, they have my permission as long as they credit me and send me a link afterwards!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, and no one has ever asked. It's something I'd love to try if the chance ever came along, and had the right idea.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? I mean I can't pick just one, I've been involved in fandoms since I was a teenager. Like for Teen Titans Raven/Beast Boy will always own a piece of my soul. In Glee, Kurt/Blaine was such a formative part of my life. And even with Jatp I don't think I could choose between Rulie and PeterPatterLina, they both mean so much to me. And those are just the fandoms I've written for!

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? *looks at my GDocs which is a WiP graveyard* Oh gosh there's so many.

16. What are your writing strengths? My brain is not being kind to me ATM, so I don't think I have any? Like maybe how much I write? Does that count?

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Everything. Editing especially.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I have done this quite a bit, even if it's just plugging what I want to say into Google Translate. So I know it's not entirely accurate, but I think I have been getting better about it.

19. First fandom you wrote for? The first fic I ever wrote that wasn't done like on a dare was a smutty fic for the anime Trigun that still exists on my ff.net page if you find it (no I'm not linking it) that I wrote in high school. It is Not Good.

20. Favorite fic you've written? I give the same answer to this question every time: But came the dawn the show goes on (and I don't want to say goodnight) and I don't think that will ever change.

Honourable mentions

-For better or for worse (Even if it's just tonight) 

-So Close To Reaching That Famous Happy End

-Yellow Wood

-Dress You Up In My Love

Not tagging anyone, but if you wanna do this ask game, go to!